#pretentious twit

[future-dregs]

Someone once read my fic and said, "I see what you did there!"

They were quite pleased about it.

To this day, I still don't know what I did there.

[witheringlows]

Page 26

What vain weather-cocks we are!

This is a famous quote, isn't it? I think it is. It is also the first sentence of Chapter Four!

It also amuses me because another name for a weather-cock is a weather-vane. Puns! Haha.

So here we are, that same evening, with Lockwood berating himself for, despite having sought out this remote location to reside in solitude, desiring conversation and thus roping in his housekeeper.

Considering to what great lengths this man has gone so far in the pursuit of social acquaintances, I cannot really be surprised by this turn of events. All it does is cement the opinion that Lockwood is a pretentious twit! YES I SAID IT.

He strikes up some conversation with his human fixture, Mrs. Dean, with such inanities as 'how long have you lived here', and is disappointed that she doesn't turn out to be a chatty gossip.

Then he has the thought to ask about his landlord! Ye Infamous Heathcliff! And his daughter-in-law! He wonders if she's from the area, or...

or, as is more probably, an exotic that the surly indigenae will not recognise for kin.

Also known as "not".

How does Lockwood approach this subject? He asks why Heathcliff is letting the place.

"Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?" I inquired.

Lockwood: spoiled little rich boy with delusions of heroic angst? Check. Do start being entertainingly stupid again, please.

Mrs. Dean answers, in short, that he is ridiculously wealthy but is a penny-pinching miserly sort. (My words, not hers, sadly enough.)

Oh hey the page is done.